Worthy of a Song
by lannerz
Summary: Jon and Sansa are ruling together as King and Queen of the North, but there are still concerns when life is not the fairytale Sansa once believed it would be.


**Author's Notes:** When I started this ASOIAF fanfic request thing, I told people that I would literally write anything that was asked of me, including ships that I don't like, don't care for, or just never thought about. It really doesn't matter to me. Also, I wanted to broaden my horizons when it came to writing. This pairing is one of the ones I've never really cared for or thought about much, but I still enjoyed writing it.

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns all of these characters and also my soul.

**Worthy of a Song**

Jon walked outside and leaned against the stone threshold. The snows were slowly starting to melt, but it was still cold for some people. He tugged on his gloves to cover his wrists better and folded his arms across his chest. A smile lit his face as he watched Sansa sitting near one of the little ponds in the godswood. She came here every morning, to pray to the gods. She thought that she could sneak out here without waking him up, but he'd peer at her with one eye open and smile to himself as she traipsed lightly through their room to get ready for the day.

As if sensing she was no longer alone, Sansa turned her gaze to him, a smile appearing on her face. "Joining me this morning?" Her voice was like one of those songbirds she had loved so dearly as a child. She told him that she'd practiced her speech while in the Vale. It was one of the few times she mentioned her time there. Even after all these years, those were the days she found most difficult to open up to him about. Jon knew why, but he never pressed her; he figured she would open up in time, like one of the winter flowers that grew on the grounds outside of their castle.

"I did not mean to disturb you."

Sansa laughed. "You're not disturbing me. I don't think you ever could." She pat the mossy stone next to her, beckoning him to join her. He meandered over in her direction and sat down where she had directed.

The godswood had always been a sacred place. When he had been a child, it had been an ominous place. The trees had frightened him as a little boy, but he had grown to admire them as he aged. Sansa told him of all the times in King's Landing when she had gone to pray, hoping against hope that any of the gods would listen to her. She had tried them all, but it wasn't until Ser Dontos came to sweep her away from her nightmares that she had started going back to the old gods in true.

"There were forests of weirwood trees beyond the Wall," Jon said quietly. He felt like you had to speak quiet here. The weirwoods beyond the Wall hadn't required silence; they had instead required blood and the Night's Watch and the wildlings had given it to them. In the end, all of Westeros gave a bit of blood to that which lied beyond the Wall.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Were their faces carved in them too?"

"Yes, by the Children of the Forest apparently."

"Listening to Bran, are we?"

Jon grinned at her. "What? You don't believe him?"

He had meant to jest with her, but there was a sad expression on her face. Jon always imagined that the godswood brought solemn thoughts to her. Sometimes, if he got up early enough, he'd catch her right as she was leaving the godswood, and there was always such a sad tint to her smiles. He himself loved the place. It brought him closer to who he was and sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could hear the leaves whispering his name in the wind. Calling to him. Beckoning him. Telling him what to do. The godswood brought him peace, but it only seemed to bring her worries. He had no clue why she'd come here every morning if all she did was leave here sad.

"This will one day end. It's just a fairytale, and I worry it was never supposed to happen." She looked down at her hands. Her legs were tucked underneath her, and he realized quite suddenly that she had folded in on herself, like she was protecting her body and heart. "That's not how the real stories end. They don't end like the songs where the king and queen live happily ever after and there are no heroes in the end."

He put a finger underneath her chin and gently lifted her face so that he was looking at him. There were tears brimming in her eyes, and it struck him that she was still quite young. She was only two years younger than him, but there were moments when he'd look at her and see the child that had been dashed away. "You are stronger than that, Sansa," he told her. "You are the hero of your own story, and your story will end however you want it to end."

"Jon, I…"

"You are the Queen of the North, Sansa," he said, pulling her hands into his. "Do you know what the people say?" She shook her head, a smile on her face. Whenever he spoke about her and the people, he always got so passionate. He couldn't help himself; he always managed to get carried away whenever she seemed to lose faith in herself. "They say that winter began to break the day you were crowned Queen, and I believe it." He kissed her fingertips, cold as they were, and warmed them in his gloved hands. "The Wall made me cold, but you… You brought me back. You are the North's Queen. You are _my_ Queen."

Sansa sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. She smelled like honey and the godswood and her. It was something he could get wrapped up in every day. "And you are my King," she whispered in his ear.


End file.
